30 Days or Bust: Day 01

All characters in this story are age 18 or older

*

It was easier than I ever imagined, and certainly more expensive. I hope I get my money's worth!

The first day has been almost scary in its simplicity – I feel like I'm having a weird dream. But aren't all dreams weird?

This ordinary workday I was in my lab, peering carefully at slides. No, the experiments I conduct aren't earth-shattering or crazy, like you read about in the news. The real work of a scientist is boring for 30 years, then you connect the dots, and wham! a news story.

Anyway – he just appeared, like Mr. Jantzen said he would.

There was a knock at the door, nothing aggressive or in a particular rhythm of any kind. It was simple, the knock of someone delivering a package.

I opened the door and there he stood: a man about six feet tall, with friendly features and clear brown eyes. He held out his hand.

"Hi, my name is Mark. I'm here from the Wish Fulfillment Corporation."

I shook his hand as if expecting him to evaporate at any moment. When he didn't disappear, I gestured politely. "Please come in."

Now that what I wished for was here, I didn't quite know what to do with it. I remembered what I was supposed to ask –

"Can I see your ID?"

His smile was pleasant. "Of course."

Mark Goodbody, age 36, local address, eyes brown, hair brown, organ donor ... I glanced up and gave him back the plastic. With difficulty I drew a breath.

"I guess we should, uh, get started." My cheeks were suddenly hot.

Mark looked caring and professional. "Dr. Arthur, Lisa, we don't have to do this if you don't want to. The opt-out clause –"

"I want to," I burst in, and suddenly I knew that I did. This question had been eating away at me for longer than I cared to admit. I had to know the answer.

Silently I shut the door and locked it, making sure he could see my hands. I turned to face him and exhaled.

"Where do you want me?"

He had already been studying the room, as if several photographs in my file had missed somehow his attention. With his chin he gestured to the lab stool where I had perched only minutes ago.

"How about there?"

Easily, more easily than I thought I could in such an outlandish circumstance, I sat down. "Like this?"

The touch of his hands on my shoulders sent a shock through my system, even through my lab coat. My mouth moved involuntarily. Gently he rotated me so I faced the microscope once again. His head dipped and his mouth was close to my ear.

"How about like this?"

"Uh... okay ..."

"Just relax," his hands caressed my shoulders. "You look at slides here, right?" I affirmed. "Why don't you show me how you do that."

I bent my face to the 'scope and stared, without seeing, the bits of biology under glass. Mark's hands, his breath at the nape of my neck, held my attention completely. His thumbs drew down my shoulder blades and followed a curving path. Next thing I knew he parted my already open white coat, and soft as a whisper, began to finger the flesh near my breasts.

A muffled grunt drew from my lips. But I hadn't said stop; and he didn't stop.

Slowly my – employee? – let his fingertips follow the path of my underwires. Instinctively I sat up a little straighter, wanting more. Sweat started pooling under my breasts.

Here it comes. Here it comes, I thought. Of course I doubted success on the first day, but the outset seemed so promising, and just as I might have regained coherent thought, Mark brushed the front of my fine linen blouse.

"Ohhhhhh...." I was getting wet. Mr. Goodbody, if that was his real name, certainly was an expert. I did not even feel him loose the buttons. A draft of cool air stroked my rib cage, and my arousal grew. I was sitting in my lab, my brassiere exposed, with a mysterious man about to fondle my tits. My clit jumped.

Mark spoke in my ear one more time. "Last chance to back out, doctor."

I shook my head no, firmly, once. Then I arched my back to lift my bosom high – I wanted him to see me, to look at me, and specifically I wanted him to notice the front clasp.

"All right, then," and with a twitch of his fingers, I was free.

My only regret is that I couldn't see the look on his face, since he was standing behind me. Yet his cheek was hot against mine. He smelled good, fresh from the shower, and just as my nose was learning his scent, his fingers began to stroke my bosom.

He wove different patterns, lifting and gently squeezing my mounds, sometimes devoting both hands to one breast, then the other. He avoided my nipples until I began to whine, then came around to the front of the lab stool. Miraculously I hadn't fallen off.

Mark perched on the table close beside the 'scope and hooked his feet in the rungs of my stool. I scooted closer. He met my eyes, as if making sure I was okay, then returned his full attention to my breasts.

The massage he administered was nothing short of glorious. Indeed his cheeks were flushed, and the luxury rippled over me in waves. There is no emotional stroke in the world equivalent to inciting desire in one's partner. The bulge in his pants confirmed my effect on him, and I wanted to lay my hand there. That wasn't part of the deal, though, and I knew it.

This man was here to teach my body one thing, and that was to give milk.

It was then that he first gently pinched my nipples for the first time. A noise jerked from my lips and I involuntarily squeezed his thighs.

"Did that hurt?"

"No..." Not unless you count the agony of desire, the keening pent-up sexual hunger that he was teasing into a furious howl.

With that he lowered his head and began to suck on one rosy tip. Honey flowed between my thighs and I staggered. One firm hand at my back held me steady. I started to moan and could not stop. His tongue licked and coaxed my sensitive skin. He took more and more of my breast into his mouth. All the while he continued to massage my other breast, preparing it for oral assault.

With a loud sucking noise he broke free of the first and started on the other. "Yessssss," I hissed, and ground out, "Oh, God." For deeper and more deeply still, he sucked my anxious nipple, taking as much of my breast into his mouth as possible.

Then to my surprise he lifted his gaze, looked me in the eye, and nibbled the very tip. A short, sharp cry burst from my lips and my already well-lubed cunny spilled again. I wanted to kiss him but he gave all his kisses to my breasts, testing them and teasing them, nipping and squeezing, until I could stand no more. When I was finally sore, I said, "Stop..."

Immediately he let go and hopped off the table.

"Thank you," I sighed.

"You're welcome." His quiet tone was somehow just right; not too understated, not too clinical; just, somehow, friendly. Easy to live with. But of course, that was what I had asked for.

Mark drew a handkerchief from his pocket, follow by a small tub of balm. He patted my breasts with the soft cloth and seemed to be looking them over for any marks. Then he unscrewed the lid of the little jar.

As he smeared on the soothing lotion, he said, "Now the constant sucking might make your skin dry out. I want you to put this on every time, after we're done, okay?"

"Okay." I could barely whisper. The crotch of my pants was soaking wet. I wanted him to lay me on the work bench, but he was putting on his jacket.

Lightly he brushed the backs of his fingers against my cheek. His smile was like natural sunlight, so warm and unpretentious. I felt like I had met an old friend for lunch.

"See you tomorrow," he said. And he was gone.